The Role of a Wife (A Gender-Bent Story)
by PagesofAngels
Summary: The world told Erika she was unfit to be human. Now that she and Christian have married, her deepest fear is that she's unfit to be a wife. She dreads the acts that her new role requires her to perform, and that is precisely the problem. [Smut] (Not in any way cannon w/ my Retelling!Verse)


The bedroom door was closed firmly, and locked for added measure. Her hands were folded in her lap as she sat on the edge of the bed, fingertips twitching. A grave breath left her chest and she straightened her spine as Christian approached her. The mattress sagged under their combined weight as he joined her.

His flat wasn't luxury, but it contained an actual bed – not a padded coffin smuggled into a cellar to serve as a poor excuse of a bed. They had been sharing it for six days, but Erika was still struggling to adjust to it. Every time Christian brushed against her in the night, she would wake in a panic until she could recall where she was. Any touch in the night sent her into high alert, fearful an aggressor was ready to try and drag her from her sleeping place. Christian insisted he sleep in the parlor, but Erika refused. She needed to get used to this, if only for one reason: Their marriage had yet to be consummated.

Just minutes earlier, she had come to him while he read by the fireside. She had touched his shoulder and informed him she was ready to make their union official. Now, here they were.

Christian softly pressed a kiss into the nape of her neck, stimulating a shiver up her back. Erika forced herself by sheer willpower not to flinch at the intimate contact. She would keep her composure, no matter what was about to occur. She was a wife now, and this was her duty. This was expected of her. If she continued to deny Christian the rights a husband had to his wife, he may very well leave for a woman who could serve the role of 'wife' better than she. It was a role she had never been taught, had never seen in the flesh, had never been suited for in any regard.

"If you want me to stop," Christian said into her ear, possibly after noticing her stiffen at his touch, "just say the word."

"No," Erika said. "This is something that has to happen."

Inexperience did not mean she was naïve. She was aware of the intimate actions that took place between a man and a woman. Truth be told, she had witnessed more than a few ballet girls and/or stage hands having elicit moments in the prop room or other dark corners where they didn't expect a pair of eyes to be. She had been thirteen years of age when she first witnessed such a secret meeting and had, of course, been curious. Monsieur Giry was the only adult she could have questioned, and he had said that she needn't worry about such things – and to not be too interested. A woman was not meant to enjoy such acts. To do so made her indecent.

So, a part of her knew that whatever was about to happen was not meant to be pleasant – at least if she wanted to remain respectable in her husband's eyes.

His fingers traced the incline of her cheek and found their way to her chin. "Remember," he said, encouraging her to look him in the eye, "just say the word."

Their lips lightly met, and they lingered there a moment before Christian's found their way to her jawline. Erika felt her breath become hot as his hands wandered to her waist. Should she do something in response? Or should she continue to sit still and let Christian do whatever he pleased? She chose the latter.

Her husband's movements were unsure, starting and stopping as if he feared her reaction should his hands touch her pallid skin. He stopped when he came to the collar of her nightshirt. His hands lingered on the first white button at her throat before dropping away.

Erika glanced at him, her stoic expression unwavering. "You're free to do as you please, my dear."

"Aren't you enjoying yourself?" Christian asked.

She answered him with an inquiry of her own: "Have you ever been with a woman?"

A silent pause. "No."

"Then you ought to know this is my responsibility." Erika undid two of her own buttons, then returned her hands to her lap. Tremors in her fingers spread down to her thighs. "I only…wish to be a suitable wife to you."

She went still as Christian placed a kiss upon her absent cheek, his lips even meeting the exposed teeth that resided there.

"Would I have married you, had I never thought of you as my wife?"

Erika had no inkling of how to answer that. The world was so full of deceptions. "I presume not," was what she finally settled on.

"Then you are a suitable wife already," Christian said, his hand resting on her shoulder. " _My_ responsibility as _your_ husband is to ensure your happiness. Erika…" he brushed a black lock of hair behind her ear, "…we don't have to do this."

There was a heavy moment of contemplation. Erika's gaze was cast to the floorboards in her ponderous state, lifting to meet his blue stare as she said: "You're frightened as well. I can sense it."

Christian didn't appear surprised that she had read him so effortlessly. He only offered her a soft smile as response. Erika returned the expression. He didn't need to explain himself. She had suspected it from the beginning.

A private ceremony there at the flat. Not even a ceremony, just a simple exchanging of rings. Not even rings, only a single ring. His mother's. Now hers.

It wasn't the most… "Christian" of practices. Nor was it the most legal of unions, but she considered it enough. The issue was, did _he_ consider it enough?

"You're frightened," Erika reiterated. Her small grin faltered. "I expected as much. If you don't want this union, Christian, then I-."

He quieted her with a second kiss to her colorless lips, deepening it by bringing a hand to the back of her neck. Erika's immediate compulsion was to try and pull away, but just as swiftly she accepted his affections and returned them. Her hands cupped the sides of his clean-shaven face, her sense of touch admiring every detail of his skin.

Before she realized, the buttons of her nightshirt were halfway undone, and the white fabric was beginning to slide from her shoulder. That's when she pulled back, clearing her throat and avoiding eye contact as she adjusted her slipping collar to better cover herself. For a minute, she thought that was the end of it. That is, until Christian undid the buttons of his vest.

With his vest on the floor and his white shirt undone only as much as hers, the newlyweds found themselves reclined on the rickety mattress. Christian eagerly covered her sensitive neck and bare sternum in butterfly-light kisses, and it was sending electricity through her nerves. The increased blood flow in her veins colored Erika's skin the slightest hint of rose – making her appear less like a cadaver and more like a living, breathing creature. She had to press her lips together to prevent any heated sounds of pleasure from escaping. She had to remain composed, had to keep her dignity.

Christian found the hem of her nightwear and gently eased it further up her slender legs. Erika was too distracted by his attention at her neck to notice. It wasn't until he positioned himself over her that she came around from her blissful haze. Her pulse flew like a bird, but not from excitement. Christian's face was gazing down into her own, his hands caging her under him at each side of her head, and his legs were beginning to pin her by the hips. She was trapped there, unable to move, completely at his mercy, and she had to remain there. The blood retreated from her skin, rushing instead to clot in her stomach.

Erika readied herself as her husband lowered his trousers, closing her eyes so the dreaded anticipation wouldn't torment her. Just as she feared, he entered her too fast for her liking.

" _Merde!_ " Erika hissed through gritted teeth. A shot of pain radiated up her body as the barrier to her virginity was torn. She opened her eyes to see Christian looking down at her with concern. "…I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied.

The first thrust of his hips was gentle, as was the second, but both only further irritated the skin that was once her hymen. By the third, Christian had gained confidence, and went in deeper. That was too much for her, she felt nothing but the pain of it.

"Ah, stop, stop!" Erika shoved against Christian's shoulders and kicked at what she could reach of his legs.

He pulled back immediately, separating himself at least a foot away from any part of her. When Erika sat up, the first thing she noticed was the fresh blood soaking the bedsheets under her. The trembling had returned – not only to her hands, but to her arms, shoulders, and knees. Every part of her felt cold, exposed. Christian's eyes widened when he saw the blood. Clearly, neither of them had expected this.

Erika pulled her nightshirt over her knees and stood from the bed. "I think we're finished here."

"Erika, wait!" Christian reached for her as she made for the dresser where the bedroom key was kept.

"The deed has been done," Erika stated, digging for the little key beneath a stack of clothing. "Our marriage is consummated, isn't that what you wanted?"

"No, it wasn't," Christian insisted, also standing to his feet. He took Erika's wrist as she retrieved the bedroom key. "This wasn't just for our marriage, Erika. I've wanted to know you, really _know_ you, the way only a husband can know his wife."

"Yes, and so you have," Erika said, trying half-heartedly to wrench her arm from Christian's grasp.

Suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her waist, his warm body pressed against her back. Erika felt her blood begin to flow faster again.

"No," Christian muttered in her ear, "I don't think I have." His breath tickled her ear.

Erika swallowed, but her throat still felt tight. The key was returned to its hiding place.

Christian caressed the exposed part of her shoulder. "Can we try this again?"

Without a word, Erika relented with a nod of her head. She gasped in surprise as Christian swept her off her feet, as if she were the fairest of maidens, and carried her bridal-style back to their bed. He cradled her in his lap on the edge of the mattress and pressed a passionate kiss to her thin lips – only breaking it to catch his breath. Erika had her arms locked around his neck, so close to him that they practically shared each breath. After a second of hesitation, she pulled him eagerly to her and had their lips meet again. Erika couldn't stop herself from moaning into his mouth this time. Her composure fell from her like a shawl of red silk, and his body appeared to enjoy her response.

This time, Christian allowed her all the freedom in the world to do as she pleased. As he reclined against their pillows, Erika climbed over him and finished unbuttoning his shirt. She would never admit it aloud, but she had seen his bare torso in the past. She had, after all, a view into the dressing rooms. Yet, that didn't make the sight any less pleasing to her eye. She worshipped him, payed tribute to his skin with an assortment of sweet kisses. He had the physique of a _danseur_ , despite never being trained in that art.

As she tucked into the crook of his neck to tease the flesh with her lips, she felt Christian gradually slide more of her clothing from her shoulders. She froze – as did he. Then, her very own hands came 'round and undid the entirety of her nightshirt. She let the fabric fall open and returned her attention to Christian's throat.

He lifted the hem of her clothing once more, suggesting they go further. Erika smirked down at him, and his eyes were so imploring that she simply had to give her beloved husband what he craved. Bracing against his shoulders, she splayed her knees to either side of his hips, allowing him access to her body's most hidden secrets. He guided himself into her with an audible groan, his eyes fluttering closed as they deepened their union as much as possible. For Erika, there was still pain, but she was ready for it this time. She lowered herself onto him until he was firmly hilted inside her.

Their chests rested against one another, so each partner was aware of the tempo of the other's breathing. Erika's pulse must have been exceedingly easy to sense beneath her ribcage. She raised herself slightly onto her knees to give him the space he needed.

Christian stroked the tendons beneath her sunken eye, tracing her cheekbone. "I'll be gentler this time, _min älsklinig_." Always true to his word, he began thrusting slowly up into her. He paid close attention to her reaction each time he moved.

Her body began to adjust to the hot, slick sensation. The stinging lessened, and the foreign sense of fullness became her focus. So…this was making love? If she were honest with herself, there was no expectation in Erika's mind regarding how intimacy should feel. Nothing was there for comparison. She clutched her lover's shoulders as his speed gradually increased, along with his force.

Erika bit into her lip as the grinding friction began to stimulate a part of her anatomy she had ignored nearly all her life. She ran a hand through Christian's hair, taking delighted satisfaction in the way his breathing hitched when she pressed her hips against his.

The two of them felt their way into a synchronized rhythm. Erika had to fight to pace herself. Simply put, she had never experienced anything as close – as _profound_ – as this. This had to be the kind of transcendence the worshipers of Christ experienced while in prayer. It _had_ to be…and if not, then it was greater.

Christian groaned beneath her and grasped her waist as their pace became more urgent. A small whimper left Erika with each exhale, her mind and her body suddenly unable to do all else. Her muscles burned, her blood was fire. A tingling heat started in the soles of her feet, spread up her legs and coiled itself around her pelvis. It tightened like a rope, sending her entire being into near convulsions. With a cry, Erika pressed herself against her lover as her body went rigid. Mere seconds later, he did the same.

The warmth of his release inside her brought her around. Erika caressed her husband's face and kissed him one long, last time as they rode out the waves of their climax as one unit. She sighed into his neck, her ligaments unlocking themselves one-by-one until she was sprawled on top of him in an intense state of relaxation. A part of her was still longing to continue, but it was clear her beloved was finished for the evening.

The two of them drifted into sleep on top of the covers, too covered in sweat to crave the comfort of a heavy blanket. Out of habit, they fell unconscious on opposite sides of the mattress.

Erika woke up to a chill in the pitch-dark room, her naked body exposed to the drafts they were never able to locate. Behind her, Christian's steady breathing let her know he was still soundly asleep. Half-awake, she turned over and curled herself around her husband's sleeping form – soaking in his body heat like a lizard on a sun-dry stone.

Being self-taught in many disciplines was the one source of pride Erika had in herself. A self-taught musician, a self-taught scholar, etcetera. Now, she was a self-taught wife.

Well…perhaps not _entirely_ self-taught.


End file.
